


What's Left Undone

by Claranon



Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Author banking hard on the plausibility of Hendrik's terrible pattern recognition skills, Canon Divergence, F/M, Hendrik Doesn't Actually Suffer That Much 2019, Pre-Canon, Takes place about a year-ish before the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claranon/pseuds/Claranon
Summary: Hendrik crosses paths with a mysterious woman in the forests of Sniflheim, and cannot shake the feeling that they have met somewhere before.





	What's Left Undone

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me one morning and threatened to consume my soul until I wrote it out. Just a bit of canon-divergent fun unrelated to my [fic series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1224137).
> 
> (Many thanks to [Flutiebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/) for talking me down from the ledge multiple times while I wrote this, and my husband for answering random questions about male anatomy with the utmost patience.)

Sir Hendrik _hated_ the cold. His fingers felt nearly numb as he gripped his greatsword tightly and turned to face the snarling orc before him. The knight weighed his options as the monster charged; then a quick parry, feint, and he ran his sword through the startled brute’s chest.

The orc let out a last gurgling cough and sagged over, forcing Hendrik to stumble back before he could brace himself to kick the beast off his blade. It limply joined its companion on the frost-covered ground.

He was panting slightly from the exertion of the fight as he kneeled down to clean his blade off in a patch of snow. Most of the inhabitants of this wood fled at his approach, but the orcs had proved troublesome foes. He wished, not for the first time, that Jasper had accompanied him on the trip to Sniflheim; an extra sword would be more than welcome in his present situation.

Hendrik rose, sheathing his greatsword, and looked around. Visibility was still poor from the lingering squall, and the sleet-grey clouds above made promise of further snow to come. He had little experience with the weather patterns of this northern realm, but he suspected that a blizzard this late in the season was a most unusual occurrence. Just his fortune for _that_ to be the time he had set out to the Snærfelt with his men to clear the way to the Royal Library.

There was still no sign of any of his soldiers, but Hendrik was not overly concerned. They were well-trained and had standing orders to regroup at a safe location were there any separation. He was likely to be the most far afield of any of them, at this rate; the knight had found himself only going further into the woods this past hour rather than back to the snowfields. If he did not make significant progress soon then he would be forced to find shelter before the next storm hit.

Hendrik pulled his cape around his face and neck once more—sadly lacking in any real efficacy against the cold, but needs must—and continued his trek. The sun had disappeared completely behind the overcast sky and gave no hints as to direction. He had been trying to retrace his footsteps, but the blowing wind had mostly obscured the older ones, and he was forced to guess more often than not.

He came to a crossroads and paused, peering down one way, then the other. The trees loomed around him, muffling the sound of the gusting wind above.

Suddenly a group of orcs burst out from the woods ahead, growling and brandishing their spears. They were accompanied by several of the stronger variety as well, Hendrik noted as he tore the cape from his face and whipped out his sword. This was a greater challenge than any he had faced thus far; his magical abilities were limited and he would have to be careful.

Two of the beasts rushed him at once and Hendrik found himself immediately on the defensive, forced to exert all his strength to block their opening attacks. The orcs were immensely powerful and every ringing parry jolted him down to his bones. He managed to break free long enough to hack at one of the monster’s arms, cleanly severing it from its body, but was left open for the other to stab at his mailed side.

Hendrik grunted at the blow and whirled to face the orc, knocking its weapon away with his blade. In his peripheral vision he saw several more of the beasts join the fight, and he bleakly assessed his odds of escape; the monsters had managed to almost completely encircle him, and he would have but one chance to flee. The knight tightened his grip on his sword and took a deep breath, gritting his teeth in a silent snarl before he charged the orc at the furthest edge of the battlefield.

The monster parried his initial slash and counterattacked, slamming against Hendrik’s breastplate with its full weight behind the impact. Hendrik staggered and lost his grip on his greatsword, frozen fingers desperately trying but failing to hold onto the hilt. He fell to the ground, blade skittering feet away, and saw the beast raising its spear for a devastating thrust.

“Hya!” A voice came from nearby, and Hendrik’s head whipped up. The orc before him suddenly fell back with a guttural cry, wounded by some unseen blow. Hendrik did not hesitate to take advantage of the reprieve and scrambled across the snowy ground, grabbing his sword and leaping to his feet once more.

The monsters had turned away from him, distracted by the new threat. There were flashes of green and black among the bulky forms of the orcs but he could not get a good look at who—or _what_ —had saved him. Regardless, he now had an excellent opportunity to revenge himself upon the beasts that had nearly ended his career, and he took it with grim satisfaction.

Hendrik rushed at one of the orcs, running it through the back with his sword. No sooner had he pulled his weapon free than he spun around at the next, nearly taking its head off with a powerful two-handed blow. The monsters appeared to remember his existence then and attempted to regroup, but it was too late. The haze of battle was upon the knight and he made quick work of two more distracted orcs before they could muster a counterattack. He was dimly aware of the other individual fighting beasts several yards away, but as they seemed to have things well in hand, he focused instead on his own adversaries.

The sounds of clashing weapons and monstrous snarls filled the quiet glade as the two worked to defeat the vicious enemies. In the end, the battle did not long survive Hendrik’s re-entry; he thrust his sword into the eye of his last orc with a sickening crunch then wrenched the blade back out. He wheeled around, breathing heavily from the exertion, and barely took note of the carnage of dead bodies littering the crossroads before spotting the other person.

They were crouched in the snow beside a dead orc and scrubbing at something, clearly having already dispatched the remainder of their foes. They looked up as Hendrik approached and he started with surprise.

It was a woman. Not old, but neither very young. Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, long enough to spill onto the snow beside her as she knelt. Under her open cloak she wore simple green and black leather clothing and he surmised her to be a martial artist of some kind—an assumption confirmed when he saw the claws she was cleaning in the snow.

She quickly stood as he drew near enough to note the deep purple of her eyes; she pulled her claws on again and took a step back, posture tense and gaze sharp and wary. For a moment he was unsure whether she was going to attack him, and he belatedly realized he was still holding his sword. He stopped short and raised a placating hand while he sheathed it, hoping he had not alarmed her.

Upon seeing this action, however, the woman further backed away and turned, clearly intending on escaping the scene.

“Wait!” he called out. She paused mid-step, back rigid.

Hendrik was puzzled by the woman’s behaviour; but whatever her reasons for flight, he felt he could not allow her to leave without first expressing his gratitude. “I owe you my life,” he said to her frozen figure, still facing away from him. “You are a most formidable warrior. I fear the outcome had you not appeared when you did.”

She did not answer for some moments. The wind had picked up again and a few flurries were starting to fall from the steely sky. Hendrik wondered at her choice of wardrobe in this weather; possibly she had been caught unawares in the storm the same as he.

“It was nothing,” she said finally in a quiet voice. He frowned, unable to quite place her accent. With her prowess, he had thought it likely for her to have been a denizen of Angri-La, but perhaps not.

“Good luck to you,” she added, interrupting his thoughts. Still she did not turn to him; after another moment she walked away again with a determined stride, taking the far fork at the crossroads.

“And to you!” he called after her, unsure if she had even heard over the gusting wind. Soon all traces of her silhouette against the dark woods had vanished.

“Peculiar,” Hendrik murmured to himself. Then he straightened and got down to business, checking his armour for damage and cleaning off his own weapon in the snow before sheathing it once more. He glanced down the path the woman had taken, her footprints only barely visible in the snow, and then deliberately chose the other fork.

As luck would have it, the monsters seemed to fear the looming storm far more than they did disoriented knights, and he had no further encounters. The chill felt as though it had settled into his skin and he cursed fine Heliodorian steel for one of the first, and only, times in his life. The sky had darkened imperceptibly and he suspected that the Northern sun, weak at the best of times, had started its descent. Hendrik grimly continued, ineffective cape wrapped around his head and hands clutched tightly to his body for warmth.

The knight was just deliberating on whether he should stop and seek out shelter when he spotted a familiar turn in the path, marked by a uniquely gnarled dead tree. He felt a surge of triumph; he had seen this tree earlier in the day and knew it to be close to the entrance to the Snærfelt. Hendrik’s pace picked up with the hope that he would soon escape the damnable woods and return to the snowfields. They would undoubtedly provide even less reprieve from the oncoming storm than the forest, but at the very least he would have his bearings again. Hendrik was starting to loathe being lost almost— _almost_ —as much as the cold.

He had just reached the last turning before the entrance when he paused. A sound came to him on the wind, faint but unmistakable: a cry of pain drifting in from somewhere behind him. Not a monster, but a person.

Hendrik did not even stop to think. He turned his back on imminent freedom and ran into the woods once more, following the direction he thought the voice had come from. His frozen armour clanked and clattered complainingly but he paid it no mind, intent on his objective.

It was some minutes before he spotted the source of the distress; he almost feared he had made a wrong turn when he suddenly saw a struggling figure on a section of the frozen river, being menaced by a group of Bodkins.

Hendrik drew his greatsword and let out a battle cry, hoping to distract the monsters as he charged at them. It worked; their attention was pulled from their target and they turned to him instead, drawing their bows and aiming straight for him.

He realized his mistake as soon as he reached the ice: his feet skittered uselessly and he nearly lost his balance and his sword both. Several arrows shot past, dangerously close to skewering him. The knight managed to right himself in time to block the next two with his sword and he continued his advance, more cautiously this time. The wind, though chilling him to the bone out on the unprotected river, at least gave an advantage in sending most of the arrows astray.

As he approached the scene he was unsurprised to identify the figure as the woman from before. Her strange ineffectiveness against such paltry enemies was quickly made clear when he saw that her boot had gotten stuck in a crack in the ice and she had been too busy fending off the monsters to pull it loose. Her damp hair was plastered to her face, obscuring it, but he could still make out the pain and frustration in her expression.

“Free yourself while I keep the beasts’ attention!” he shouted at her. She looked up at him and then nodded, tugging off her claws and focusing her efforts on her foot.

The Bodkins were not normally cause for concern, but the ice made the situation far trickier than usual. Hendrik deflected an arrow and then finally reached the first monster, chopping it in two with a single slash of his sword. The top half of its body flew through the air and landed in the inky river with a splash. The next was felled in a similar fashion before he was forced to fall back to parry another flurry of arrows.

He was just assessing the best strategy for advancing on the remaining monsters when the one furthest away gave a gurgle as it was skewered from behind with razor-sharp blades. The woman pulled her claw free and leapt up with lightning speed, already turning on another of the beasts. Her leg was stained with blood but she appeared otherwise not much the worse for wear.

Between them they quickly dispatched the Bodkins with no further issue. The woman kicked her last foe into the river and let out a huff, her breath puffing into the cold air. She pulled off a claw and distractedly brushed her hair out of her eyes. Hendrik sheathed his sword and watched her carefully, unwilling to move any closer after her wary behaviour from earlier.

Snow was starting to fall more steadily, dusting her dark hair with flakes as she turned to him. “I owe _you_ a debt of gratitude now, it seems,” she said, her face unreadable.

Hendrik shook his head. “Think nothing of it.” He hesitated then, glancing down at her leg. “If you would like, I have some skill in Magical Mending…”

She considered this for a moment, tilting her head slightly while she looked at him, and then nodded. Hendrik took a step forward and held out his hands. The bright flash of his MidHeal was nearly blinding as it reflected off the snow and ice; the light enveloped her and he saw her shiver as magic coursed through her body.

There were spots in his eyes when the spell faded and they were left standing on the darkening river again. When his sight adjusted he squinted at her leg, assessing the wound. She tentatively stretched it this way and that before nodding in satisfaction.

“Thanks,” she said simply.

“It is the least I could for one who saved my life,” he replied, inclining his head.

“Well, we can consider ourselves even, then.” She looked off to the side; something about the angle of her profile struck him oddly, but he could not quite grasp it.

“I should get going,” the woman continued. “Thanks again for the help.” She pushed her bangs away from her face and started off in the opposite direction of where he had come from.

Hendrik rushed forward, skidding on the ice slightly, and held out a hand to stop her. “A moment.”

She halted and looked up at him, wariness back in her eyes.

“How came you to be here?” he asked. “We are far from the nearest settlement.”

The woman tilted her head again and searched his face a moment before replying. “I was travelling with my companion before we lost each other in the storm. I’ve been trying to find my way back to the Snærfelt.”

Hendrik nodded in understanding. “I myself was separated from my men and have spent the better part of the afternoon seeking an escape from these woods.” He paused. “I believe I may have found a way out, if you wish to join me.”

She was silent before him, her eyes narrowed, and he felt compelled to clarify his intent: “The monsters here have proven particularly fierce, as we have both discovered. Joining forces would ensure a more favourable outcome.” He found himself holding his breath as he waited for her response.

Finally the woman nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”

Hendrik exhaled and pushed away the sudden satisfaction he felt. The woman gestured with her clawed hand, inviting him to continue, but he stayed a moment longer.

“Might I inquire as to your name?” he asked her.

“Martina,” she replied without hesitation.

Hendrik inclined his head. “Well met, Martina. I am Sir Hendrik of Heliodor.”

For the first time in their brief but strange acquaintance, a slight smile crossed her face. It softened her features, and somehow seemed to warm the frigid air around them.

“I’m not sure there’s anyone who doesn’t know that,” she said with faint amusement in her voice. Before he could muster a response, she gestured again. “Come on. We should get going before the next storm hits.”

They carefully made their way back across the ice to solid ground. A stray Drackyma had come to investigate the commotion at the river, but was felled by Martina before Hendrik could even get his sword out. At leisure to observe her fighting technique for the first time, he was struck by the deadly gracefulness of her movements. She clearly had much experience with battle, and showed no fear in the face of personal danger. He wondered again whence she hailed to have trained to such a level of skill.

He noticed, also, her annoyed distraction as she pulled her claws free of the monster’s body and then slipped them off to tug at her long hair again. She must normally wear it up, he realized; such a change would surely be an inconvenience in a skirmish.

Hendrik reached for his scabbard and untied one of the strings of leather attaching it to his belt. He approached Martina and held it out for her. “Here.”

She looked up at him, surprised, then down at the string; understanding dawned across her face. “Thank you,” she said, taking it. “I lost mine earlier in the fight with the orcs.” She pulled her wealth of hair back and automatically lifted her arms as if to tie it high upon her head.

Then she hesitated, glancing back at him so quickly he almost thought he had imagined it. She let her hair drop down again and gathered it at her nape instead, fastening it firmly with the string. She shook her head to test the hold. “Much better,” she said with relief.

“A comrade of mine has hair such as yours,” Hendrik told her, eyes following the movement of her swaying locks. “I have long thought it a hindrance in battle, but he insists on its merit as a distraction.”

That small smile came across her face once more. “I’ve found the same thing,” she replied as she pulled her claws back on and tightened the straps. “There’s more than one way to win a fight.”

Hendrik frowned, not understanding her meaning, but Martina was already pointing toward the path.

“Let’s go,” she said. He nodded in acquiescence and they set out together.

They quickly found Hendrik’s footprints from his route earlier and started to retrace his steps. The light was rapidly leaving the woods now and he knew they must hurry before they lost the chance to escape before nightfall.

The storm, too, appeared to finally be making good on its threat, and snow began to fall more thickly around them. Hendrik attempted to offer the paltry protection of his cape to his companion, concerned that her cloak was insufficient for the weather, but she wordlessly shook her head and he let the matter drop.

By the time they made their way back to the entrance to the Snærfelt it was nearly dark, and the freezing air had somehow turned even colder with the loss of the scant daylight. Hendrik’s teeth chattered in his head and he despaired that he would ever feel his fingers again. Martina was likewise clutching her arms tightly to her body in an attempt to conserve warmth.

The relief he felt in finally departing the maze-like woods was shortly cut off by the reality of the treeless wasteland before them. With no barriers to impede it, the wind howled mercilessly and surrounded them with whirlwinds of icy crystals. Hendrik held his arms in front of his face in a futile attempt to block the driving snow.

“We must find refuge from the storm!” he shouted, trying to be heard over the gale.

“There’s a cabin not far from here!” she yelled back, pointing off to her left. “It’s our only chance!”

Hendrik nodded, blinking away the flurries in his eyes, and struggled through the drifts alongside Martina. They were some minutes in the snow, fighting for every step, and he had just started to despair of the very existence of the cabin when he saw a dark structure looming up ahead.

He renewed his efforts, hope welling within him, and reached the wooden stairs moments later. He was up on the porch about to open the door when he heard Martina stumble on one of the steps behind him and rushed back to help her. She gave him a grateful look and clutched his arm for support as they entered the cabin together.

It was dark and chilly inside, but anything was a welcome respite from the shrieking winds of the snowfields. Hendrik took a tentative step and immediately banged his shin on an obstacle with a muttered oath.

“Hold on,” Martina said, dropping her hand from his arm and moving further into the darkness. Hendrik’s eyes fought to adjust; his sight had ever been poor in dim conditions.

He heard the sound of a match being struck and then Martina came back into view, already dipping the flame into a candle as he blinked away stars from his vision. The light brought the cabin into relief and the knight looked around curiously.

It was a small but well-appointed hut, equipped with a table, chairs, and a single bed against the far wall. There were barrels of what he surmised to be food and drink in the corners and dried meats hung from the rafters, as well as a clothesline. Most importantly, however, there existed a large fireplace and a substantial wood stove on the wall opposite.

“We need to get the fires going,” Martina told him. She knelt down by the fireplace and grabbed a poker, knocking away the ashes from some previous blaze. “There’s a bit of wood in here already and more stored underneath the cabin when we need it.”

Hendrik nodded and moved over to the stove, blowing on his numb fingers so that they could strike a match to light it. He and Martina worked quickly, invigorated by the promise of imminent warmth, and soon the soothing sounds of crackling and popping fire filled the air, drowning out some of the howling wind outside.

They pulled the chairs over to the fireplace and sat down, holding out their hands to the flames. Hendrik felt the cold start to seep out of his body, achingly slowly, and knew he would have to remove his armour to appreciate the full effect of the blaze. For now, however, it was enough to feel the heat on his cheeks and fingertips and relish in the renewal of life it represented.

He glanced over at Martina. She held a contented expression, firelight dancing on her face. Now that he had leisure to look at her, he realized for the first time how extraordinarily beautiful she was. Long lashes framed her sultry, expressive eyes, leading down to a pointed nose and full, pink lips. Moreover, there was something about her, something oddly familiar that he could not quite place. She appeared to be about ten years younger than he, and Hendrik could not think where he might have seen her before.

“Have you any further injuries from the trek?” he asked, and her gaze turned to him. “My magic will likely heal minor frostbite.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, stretching her arms above her head. “We should probably get out of these wet clothes, though. There are some extra tunics in one of those bins.”

Hendrik rose with some reluctance and walked over to where she had indicated. “Are you acquainted with the owner of this cabin, then?” He pawed through the piles of fabric, separating out anything that did not look overly threadbare.

“No. But my companion and I stayed the other night and there’d been no sign of anyone here for a while.” Martina began unlacing her boots where she sat. This was the most she had spoken at one time since their first meeting, and her accent was still maddenly difficult for Hendrik to decipher. There was almost a hint of—but no, she was far too young for that to be possible.

The knight grabbed the clothing he had found and brought it back to the fireplace. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of a long, shapely calf suddenly revealed by the removal of her boot, but mentally shook himself and shifted his attention back up to Martina’s face. “At least some of these should prove adequate,” he said, placing the stack on the other chair.

“Thanks.” She had started unlacing the other boot now. “I can’t promise anything will fit _you_ , though,” she added. Martina eyed him speculatively and Hendrik felt a self-conscious flush creep up his neck.

“It does not appear that the snow seeped through to my innermost layers,” he replied, turning away with a small cough. “The removal of my armour and chainmail will be sufficient.”

Martina shrugged. “Fair enough.” She tugged off her other boot and placed them both to the side. She picked up one of the shirts and held it up to herself, pursing her lips.

Hendrik suddenly realized that she would require privacy while she changed, which did little to combat the blush still doggedly clinging to his skin. Out in the dangerous woods, enemies surrounding them, she had been but a fellow comrade-in-arms, however temporarily. But here in the firelit cabin, something had shifted imperceptibly. Hendrik had seldom—to be clear, _never_ —been in the presence of undressing ladies, and he was momentarily flummoxed by the situation he had found himself trapped in.

As if reading his mind, Martina put the shirt back down and stood, going over to the bed to strip it of one of its blankets. “Help me hang this up,” she said to him, pointing to the clothesline above the fire. He was still too self-conscious to make more than a passing note of how easily she seemed to fall into giving him orders; perhaps she was a woman of some minor importance, used to a serving staff.

Regardless, Hendrik was not one to deny the requests of a lady. He reached up and fastened the blanket to the string with several wooden pins. After he had finished, he tugged it to ensure its security, then stepped back to give Martina space. She smiled slightly in thanks and walked around to the other side to change.

Hendrik realized his fatal error almost immediately. With the backdrop of the fire behind her and only the faded blanket as a barrier, he could clearly see her entire silhouette through the thin fabric. His flush grew exponentially as he watched her turn to the side and undo the halter at her neck and back, letting the leather garment drop to the floor with a wet _plonk_. She reached down to her waist, then, drawing her tank top over her head and exposing—

He spun around, far too late, rebuking himself harshly for the invasion of her privacy. Hendrik deliberately walked over to the far side of the room, armour clanking, and rested a clenched fist against the stone wall of the stove. He breathed deeply through his nose and forced himself to relax. He was a knight of Heliodor, not some vulgar knave lecherously preying on vulnerable young women.

Although, he had to admit, he had not much hope for his chances if she _were_ to take offense and decide to chastise him. Her claws were still well within reach and had already felled many a fearsome opponent that day; best to stay on her good side if at all possible.

Hendrik decided it was well time for a distraction and started to remove his armour. He sat down on the sideboard, pointedly facing _away_ from the fire, and unfastened the straps of his greaves. He gave a cursory inspection to each piece before placing it on the floor with a clink, checking for damage and making note of needed repairs. The familiar ritual was automatic, almost soothing in a way, and did much to calm his racing heart.

It was when he reached his breastplate that he ran into an issue: the buckles had frozen over and stubbornly resisted his fingers’ attempts to make purchase. He frowned down, trying to get a better angle at his shoulder to ascertain a possible solution.

“Allow me.”

Hendrik violently started at the sound of Martina’s voice behind him. He half-whirled in place and saw her not two feet away. She had recoiled slightly, instinctively on the defensive at his reaction.

“M-My apologies,” he stammered. His heart had sped up again, not merely from the shock but also from the sight of her in the overly-large clothes she had changed into. She had tied the strings of the tunic as tightly as she could, but it still gaped open at her collarbone, and one shoulder seemed to be threatening to slip down entirely if she made any sudden movements.

Hendrik prayed to the heavens that there would not be _any_ cause for her to make sudden movements that evening.

She had relaxed after his apology, shaking her head. “It was my fault. I should know better than to sneak up on a knight.” Before he could wonder what meaning she intended with _that_ , she tentatively reached out with one hand, eyes darting up to his. “May I?”

He lost himself in her gaze for a moment, then nodded tightly.

Martina moved forward with narrowed eyes and started tugging at the straps of his breastplate. Hendrik felt almost dizzy; it had been some years since any woman had come so close to him, but especially not one with such delicate features, precarious clothing, and possessing a faint floral scent that wafted to him tantalizingly whenever she shifted. He resisted the urge to lean closer, but only just.

She was inches away from him as she fiddled with the buckle at his shoulder. He was trying to regain his senses enough to instruct her on how the mechanism worked, when it suddenly popped open. Martina smiled triumphantly, the most expressive he had seen her since their meeting, and it almost seemed to light up the room. When her gaze shot up to his, however, her face returned to a careful neutrality and her eyes grew hooded. She involuntarily licked her lips; to his dismay, he started growing hard.

Hendrik felt helplessly bewitched. If he had at that moment been told she were actually a sorceress in disguise, he would have been entirely unsurprised. As it stood, though, she was only a woman: a brave, capable, intelligent, _beautiful_ woman, who somehow had him entirely in her thrall.

He concentrated on his breathing, trying to centre himself while she moved over to his other shoulder and her light fingers worked their way under the strap. It was an interminable length of time— _too soon, not enough—_ before he heard the telltale click and the breastplate shifted downward, catching on his mail.

Martina mercifully pulled back then, retreating several steps away while he pulled the steel plate off his torso and placed it with the others. He did not allow himself to look at her as he stood and tugged his chainmail shirt over his head with a grunt of exertion. A wave of relief flowed through him then despite his stiffness in certain areas; even for one so highly trained as he, a full day of wearing armour took a physical toll. His gambeson was just damp enough from the wet mail to require removal as well, leaving Hendrik in his simple undershirt and trousers.

The room was pleasantly warm now despite the sound of the blizzard gusting outside the shuttered windows. Hendrik gathered up his armour and deposited it in an empty corner of the cabin while Martina busied herself at the stove.

“They’re only travel rations, but I can at least heat them up a bit,” she said brusquely. She seemed intent on letting the strange moment from before pass, and he was grateful for it. Not one to sit idly, he placed his boots by the fireplace to warm them and removed the blanket from the clothesline, in time for her to bring him a plate of dried meat and hardtack.

They sat down by the fire again to eat and Hendrik suddenly realized how ravenous he was. Martina seemed equally starved and they both wolfed down their food without another word between them. He stood with a silent offer and she nodded in return, so he fetched second platefuls for the both of them, which were equally devoured.

Hendrik slouched in his chair afterward, legs stuck out straight before him. Martina had curled up with a blanket in hers, resting her chin in her propped up hand as she stared into the fire. He felt warm and full and slightly sleepy; it had been a long, tiring day. He had to rouse himself slightly when she spoke after a few minutes.

“You said you were from Heliodor. What are you doing in Sniflheim?” she asked quietly, eyes fixed on the fireplace. Her hair was slightly frizzy at the edges but still mostly contained by the leather tie he had given her.

Hendrik rubbed the back of his neck, stretching slightly to work a crick out of it. “King Carnelian, my liege, is here on a state visit to King Gustaf. I frequently accompany him on such trips.”

She hummed in response. “And how did you come to be lost in the woods, Sir Knight?”

He frowned slightly at the almost... _sardonic_ way she had said that, but responded regardless. “His Majesty expressed an interest in visiting the Royal Library of Sniflheim,” he explained. “I was to first take a section of my men to clear a safe passage for him, but the storm overtook us and we were scattered. I had been alone some time attempting to locate the exit when you found me.”

He paused. “And what of yourself?” he asked, looking over at her. “The Snærfelt is not a common destination for travellers, even those of your prowess.”

Martina was silent, still staring at the fire, and he saw some of that initial guardedness return to her posture; he knew not what she felt she had to hide, but clearly her secrets ran deep.

“Oh, we travel here and there,” she said lightly, but her tone had a finality to it that strongly discouraged further questions. He would respect that, even if he did not understand.

“You are a most skilled fighter,” Hendrik commented, trying to change the subject. “Where did you train?”

“Nowhere in particular,” she replied, covering a yawn with her hand and shifting her legs in the chair. “My companion gave me some instruction, but the rest I picked up myself.”

He frowned. “Most unusual. You possess a large degree of natural talent, then.”

“High compliments from such a renowned knight,” she said, again with the slight sardonicism, and Hendrik wondered what he was missing from the conversation.

“And your...husband?” he persisted. “Is he a martial artist as well?”

Martina burst out laughing. Hendrik was almost as startled as if she had suddenly attacked him. She finally met his gaze, eyes filled with a mirth that had mostly dispelled the reservation of before.

“ _Not_ my husband,” she corrected with a chuckle. “Definitely not my husband.”

“Ah,” Hendrik said, truly baffled now at her mercurial moods. “My apologies.”

She waved it away, still smiling to herself, and resumed looking at the fire. He studied her for a time, trying to remain circumspect; that nagging feeling of recognition had returned in full force with her elation, and this time he could not help but try to unravel the mystery.

“Forgive me,” he asked her then, “but have we...met, previously?”

He could almost _see_ her walls slamming up; the wary look flooded back into her eyes and her expression closed off. Once more, all sense of familiarity vanished.

“I shouldn’t say so,” she said indifferently. Before he could respond, she grabbed her half-laced boots and pulled them on, tucking them under her trousers before rising and heading over to the door.

“Martina?” Hendrik was uncertain as to what had happened or what he might have said wrong; clearly, conversation with her was not his strongest suit.

“We’ll need more wood for the fire soon. I’ll fetch it,” she replied, her back to him as she shrugged on her cloak.

“If you would like, I—” he started, but she had already vanished out the doorway into the windy darkness, leaving him alone.

Hendrik stared at the door for some moments after she left. Then, lacking any other inspiration, he began gathering up their discarded clothes and hanging them on the line to dry. His boots were now warm from the fire and he pulled them back on with a pleasant shiver. He deliberately avoided dwelling on Martina’s unpredictable conduct as he worked; far be it from him to force an explanation from one trapped here just as surely as he.

The knight was shaking out his gambeson, dusting off some stray ash that had gotten stuck on the collar, when he heard a muffled thump from outside—and what sounded like a shout from Martina’s voice.

He dropped the gambeson and lunged for his greatsword standing in the corner. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed Martina’s claws, too, from their place by her chair. Hendrik wrenched open the door and braced himself against the sudden gust of blowing snow.

It was impossible to see clearly into the darkness, so he called out to her instead. “Martina? Martina!”

Her voice came to him on the wind, seemingly from all directions. “The wood pile on the near side—hurry!”

That was enough for him to go on. Hendrik leapt down the stairs and charged around the side of the cabin, holding his arm out to shield his face from the unrelenting icy blasts.

He arrived at a scene from nightmares: an enormous metal creature with a piercing red eye was advancing on Martina, sword raised to strike. She had fallen in the snow and was scrambling to get away, but the machine had caged her in and blocked all chance of escape.

Hendrik clutched his sword in one hand and let out a bellow as he charged. His first slash was a glancing blow, but the second tore a large gash in the metal chassis of the creature, enough to turn its attention toward him.

The knight had been waiting for that; he tossed Martina’s claws into the snow nearby and shifted to a two-handed grip, falling back to try to draw the machine away from the cabin so that she might have time to arm herself.

Instead of advancing, however, the strange creature reared up and pointed its red eye straight at Hendrik. He watched with alarm as a beam of light shot out and panned across the snow, leaving a trail of steam in its wake, and moved toward him at terrific speed. Hendrik tried to dodge, but the laser managed to catch him on the edge of his sword arm.

The searing pain was excruciating; he cried out and fell to one knee in the snow. The smell of burnt flesh overpowered him and he knew the wound would require mending in all possible haste to avoid further damage. Following up on its advantage, the machine clanked ominously toward him as he struggled to rise and defend himself.

Hendrik finally managed to stand up, leaning heavily on his sword with his good arm, and raised a shaky hand. The decision to heal or buff was made in a split-second; the spell lit up the dark, snowy night just in time to deaden the creature’s near-calamitous overhand blow. The knight reeled back from even this muted impact and almost fell to the ground again. He grimly steadied himself and raised his sword with some effort, bracing for the next blow.

Suddenly the creature whirled around at some unseen foe. Hendrik heard a great shrieking and tearing of metal and realized with relief that Martina had joined the battle. Not one to waste precious seconds of distraction, Hendrik immediately cast a MidHeal on himself and shuddered at the surge of renewed strength that coursed through him. He shook out his now-healed arm, lifted his sword again, and rushed to attack.

The tide had turned now that the machine was forced to defend itself from both sides. It spun this way and that, unable to choose the greater threat, and Martina and Hendrik took full advantage of its disorientation. He hacked and thrust at its metal torso while she slashed its arms and legs. They worked in unspoken tandem, a seamless team of devastating force.

Finally, Hendrik had opportunity to deliver an unobstructed swing at the creature’s exposed midsection; at the same time, Martina leapt into the air and aimed straight for its head, sinking her claws into the bright red eye with a shattering crunch. The effect was immediate: the red light flickered out and the machine fell to the ground in two pieces, sparks spitting and hissing from its body.

Hendrik stood in the snow, chest heaving as he stared at the strange creature. Then, remembering himself, he dropped his sword and rushed over to Martina.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously looking her up and down with hovering hands ready to cast a spell at a moment’s notice. Her damp hair was plastered to her face and her clothing soaked, but she did not appear to have any visible wounds.

Martina confirmed this by shaking her head. “No, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just cold.” She slipped her claws off and tucked them under her arm.

“Of course,” he nodded. “Continue into the cabin while I inspect the area for further threats.”

“I’ll join you,” she said. At his imminent protest, she gave him a small smile and added, “We only seem to get into trouble when we’re on our own.”

Hendrik could not fault her reasoning; and regardless, she was not a woman who appeared to change her mind after she had made it. He picked up his sword again and they both braced themselves against the snow as they quickly checked the remainder of the perimeter.

Nothing having been found, they returned to the side of the cabin and Hendrik gave his sword to Martina to carry while he hoisted an armful of firewood out of the bin. Now some minutes from the conclusion of battle, the warmth of exertion had drained out of him and he felt the detestable cold creeping into his body once more.

The heat of the cabin was a blessing on his skin when they returned. The fire had grown low with lack of fuel but quickly perked up again when he added several logs to it, before depositing the rest to one side. He then turned, searching the room for Martina.

When he saw her, he swallowed hard.

She had placed their weapons on the floor and was now standing at the stove, her back to him, holding her hands out to the flames. Her wet clothing clung to her skin, embracing the curves of her body. The shoulder of her tunic, aided by a rent from the battle, had finally made good on its threat and had fallen nearly halfway down her upper arm. Miraculously, her hair had stayed in place with the tie, allowing him to clearly see the large section of her bare back that the drooping shirt left exposed.

Hendrik had not previously been aware that he _could_ feel betrayed by a simple piece of leather string.

Martina looked over her shoulder at him and he jerked his gaze away, not wanting to have been caught staring.

“We’ll need to get changed—again,” she said with amused resignation.

Hendrik nodded, deliberately not looking at her. “I fear your own clothes have not yet had time to dry. Perhaps another of the spares will fit.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, walking over to the pile and thumbing through it. “I still don’t think any are big enough for you, though.”

“The fire will dry me sufficiently,” he declared, having absolutely no intention of stripping down in the presence of an attractive young woman—especially not _this_ woman, the sight of whose _shoulder_ was enough to set his heart to racing.

And who also had an unfortunate stubborn streak, fully on display when she turned, hand on hip, and scoffed at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. What good will you be in a fight if you’ve caught cold?”

He could almost admire her ability to zero in on an opponent’s weak points, as effectively with words as with her needle-sharp claws.

“What—” Hendrik cleared his throat. “What do you suggest?”

“We have more blankets than proper clothing,” Martina pointed out, gesturing to the bed. “We’ll just wrap ourselves in those until everything else dries off.”

Try though he might, he could not think of a suitable alternative. He had to admit she was correct in his needing to remove his garments for reasons of health; even now the room’s warmth could not fully banish the chill clinging to the wet fabric.

“Very well,” he conceded reluctantly. “Shall I hang a sheet for privacy?”

“Don’t bother,” she said as she handed him two of the woolen blankets. Then she smiled, a strangely arch little thing. “I promise not to peek if you won’t.”

“Certainly not!” he exclaimed with a guilty flush, worried that she _had_ indeed noticed him earlier.

Her smile grew and she tilted her head a bit as she looked at him. Then she walked back to the stove with her own blankets and deliberately turned away.

Hendrik took the hint and faced the fireplace. He tugged off his boots and grabbed the edges of his undershirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. His pendant caught on the fabric for a moment before falling back to the centre of his chest. He unlaced his trousers last, pushing them down over his hips but leaving his boxers on.

The exact mechanism of wrapping himself in the blankets took some moments to determine, but soon he had himself mostly covered, already feeling incomparably warmer and more comfortable than before.

“Are you finished?” she asked from behind him. Hendrik felt his flush return as any number of mental images flashed through his head against his will: long, bare legs; the smooth skin of her shoulder; droplets of water on her collarbone, dripping down to—

“Yes,” he replied in a slightly choked voice. He braced himself and turned, filled equally with dread and anticipation.

Martina, as it happened, had done an even better job than he with her blankets, showing no more skin than when he had first met her. Hendrik chastised himself— _strongly_ —for the disappointment that flitted through him.

She picked up her clothing and held out her hand for his own as she approached the fireplace. “I’ll hang these up while you get the mattress off the bed,” she told him. “It’s best we stay in front of the fire tonight.”

Hendrik had not thought ahead to their sleeping arrangements; truthfully, he realized with sudden shame, he had not thought even of his expedition since before the battle with the machine. It was as though this cabin and the woman inside it existed outside of time, and he had been caught within their spell.

He found himself stripping the bed of its lumpy straw mattress and hauling it in front of the fireplace without protest. The blanket around his chest slipped a bit and his pendant fell out as he bent over to adjust the positioning. He grabbed it with the intention of tucking it back underneath when he noticed Martina staring, paused in the action of hanging up his shirt.

“A token of fealty to my kingdom,” he explained, in response to what he presumed was her unspoken question.

Her eyes darted up to his and then away again as she resumed her work at the clothesline. “I see,” was her only reply.

She was quiet when they sat down on the mattress together, a respectable—and safe—distance between them. Hendrik was loath to break the silence and interrupt her pensive mood, not wanting to inadvertently offend her again. He gazed into the fire, instead, trying to force himself to think of logistics and necessary actions once the storm broke.

He was startled when she spoke, his thoughts immediately scattering to the wind.

“When do you leave Sniflheim?” she asked. This was not the first question she had had about his plans, and it struck him oddly; but he nevertheless responded.

“In three days’ time,” he said. Then, with no idea as to what possessed him to make such an offer, he added: “If you and your companion travel to the Inner Sea, you are welcome on our ship. I shall personally vouch for you to His Majesty.”

He had taken her by surprise; that much was readily apparent. Martina stared at him wordlessly and then looked away. It was some moments before she gave a reply: “I’ll...consider it.”

His curiosity at her hesitance was banished when she suddenly shivered, trying to curl up further into her blankets.

“Are you chilled?” he asked with concern.

“A little,” she admitted, and he realized that her skin had taken on a paler hue than normal.

Hendrik was already tugging at one of his blankets, ready to offer it to her. “Here—I have no need of this.”

“No,” Martina said firmly. “Keep it. It wouldn’t help that much, anyway.”

“Then…” He felt helpless at her refusal; frustrated by her stubbornness. She was fearless and strong and had saved his life twice over today, as he had hers. She could keep her secrets, evade his questions, retreat behind her walls—but he would _not_ allow her sit here, cold, in this lonely cabin tonight.

“Then perhaps... _I_ could assist you, if you wish it,” he finished.

Outside of time; outside of duty, honour, necessity.

He had expected a reaction, and indeed her eyes flew to his immediately; but her look was assessing rather than shocked. She appeared to come to a decision after a moment, and nodded.

Now faced with the consequences of his reckless offer, Hendrik realized he had no idea how one went about holding a woman. Somewhere in the back of his head, Jasper was laughing at him, but he sternly pushed that aside; his boyhood companion had no place in this situation.

It seemed to him that a sensible first step would be to shift closer to her on the mattress. He did so, shuffling awkwardly as he moved. She watched him approach, expression unreadable and doing little to bolster his confidence in his strategic choices of the past several minutes.

When his blanket-clad leg rested mere inches from her own, he paused again, determining the next course of action. He tentatively reached one arm out, fingers brushing against her dark hair as his hand settled on her far shoulder. The worn woolen blanket was soft and he felt it shift against her skin as he tugged her toward him in silent encouragement.

Martina tilted her head up at him then and gave him a small smile. Instead of merely leaning in to his cautious hold, she moved entirely, unfolding her legs and shifting closer until she was settled directly against his chest. His hand had dropped from her shoulder to her waist and she reached out to grab the other one, joining them together to enclose herself within his embrace.

Hendrik’s heart hammered in his chest as she let out a sigh and rested her head against him. Her faintly floral scent filled his nostrils and nearly put him in a daze.

Grasping her gently in his arms before the fire, he was struck by two things. The first was how very _small_ she was. From the moment he had first met her, her bravery and prowess in battle had caused her to loom so largely in his mind that he had almost forgotten the sheer discrepancy of their sizes. Now, she felt almost fragile before him, despite his experience to the contrary.

The second, was the excellent view of her ample cleavage now afforded to him by the downward slip of her blanket. His ardour, lulled these past minutes, returned in full force.

Duty, king, country—they all seemed very far away as Hendrik felt the blood rush to his cock. His arms tightened involuntarily around her and she shifted, moving dangerously close to his hardening erection.

Hendrik swallowed thickly and tried to calm his racing mind. Perhaps one with more— _any_ —experience would know how to escape such a predicament, but he did not. Martina appeared quite content in her current position, and indeed was already feeling less chilled; he was loath to disturb her. Equally unthinkable, however, was the idea of her discovering his present plight. She had come to trust him to some degree, and his inappropriate lust seemed a betrayal of their tentative alliance.

She took a deep breath and his gaze shot down to watch the captivating effect this had on her breasts.

There was no help for it; he must needs risk her vexation. The clearest course of action was detachment. Hendrik subtly tried to reposition himself, moving his hips away from her the slightest bit at a time to avoid detection. Even mere inches would make a significant difference, and he painstakingly concentrated on the effort.

A strategy completely stymied, of course, when she responded to his gradual movement by shifting herself further back and pressing fully up against his achingly stiff cock.

They both froze. A thousand apologies and pleas for mercy filled Hendrik’s head, but his voice had disappeared. An interminable moment passed; the fire crackled before them and the wind outside continued its howling.

Then Martina twisted around in his arms, grabbed his face in her hands, and captured his mouth with her own.

Hendrik’s mind went blank. In this, at least, he had a modicum of experience, though years removed; but the innocent dalliances of his youth were as _nothing_ compared to the soft heat of Martina’s lips, the caress of her fingertips on his jaw, and the press of her breasts against his chest.

Her mouth urged his to open and he automatically complied, helpless to deny her anything she might desire. He shuddered when her tongue stroked against his, and felt her lips curve in a smile. His arms tightened around her and she tangled her fingers in his hair, gently twisting and tugging.

They broke off, panting. Her dark eyes were hooded and her breath hot on his skin. Hendrik felt coherent speech to be quite beyond him, but made an attempt nonetheless. “Martina—”

She moved further into his lap, pushing apart the blanket covering her lower body so she could straddle his thighs. He could feel the heat of her, agonizingly close to his groin, and his cock twitched reflexively.

“Martina,” he gasped once more. Her fingers tightened against his scalp and she kissed him again, deep and delirious; her lips then trailed along his jaw, wet and feverish against his skin.

Hendrik struggled to reclaim his sense of control. His hands moved from her waist to her legs in an attempt to—stop her, perhaps, put a halt to her actions so he could have time to regain his senses. But he found himself squeezing instead, fingers digging into her firm thighs. She made a throaty sound in response, and something coiled hot and low in his stomach.

“If...If you should feel some sense of...obligation toward me,” he finally managed, swallowing hard as her light kisses slowly made their way down to his neck.

Martina paused. She pulled back slightly to look at him through half-lidded eyes. “That’s not what I feel,” she said in a husky voice.

“Ah,” he replied intelligently. “And...you do _not_ have a husband?”

She huffed a laugh against his throat. “Definitely not.” Then she caught the lobe of his ear between her lips and grazed her teeth along it.

Hendrik had never been so hard in his life. His breath came in short gasps as she nibbled at the space where his ear met his neck. He tentatively stroked his hands up her thighs and was rewarded by the feeling of her body pressing flush up against him.

She pulled back again and gave him a heated look before returning her mouth to his. This time he met her with equal eagerness, determined to keep pace with her intensity. Their tongues moved together and he could not help the moan that escaped him.

Martina’s hands dropped from his hair to his chest and he willingly allowed her to push him down to the mattress. She moved over him, knees on either side of his hips and arms beside his head. Her blankets had slipped yet further and his attention was arrested by the sight of her breasts, nearly free of the thin fabric now. She noticed him looking and smiled teasingly.

“Are you a fan of Puff-Puffs, Sir Knight?” she asked. She sat back on her legs and brought one hand up to the blanket, fingers idly toying with the frayed edges.

“I—” He was not at all certain how to answer that question; but fortunately, the matter was quickly rendered moot when she tugged at the fabric and allowed the blanket to drop to her waist. Hendrik’s breath caught in his throat.

Her breasts were round and full and soft-looking, capped with rosy pink nipples. They swayed slightly from the removal of the blanket, and there was a flush across her chest that belied the chill of the cabin. Despite her playful confidence, she appeared almost nervous now, biting her lip as she waited for his reaction.

“You are…” Hendrik swallowed, then again for good measure. “You are magnificent,” he said hoarsely.

Martina smiled again, almost shyly this time, and leaned forward. “Touch me,” she breathed. He obeyed without question.

He heard her sharp intake of breath when he cupped her right breast and brushed his thumb across the nipple. Her eyes drifted closed as his other hand reached out to the left, gently teasing the hardened peak with his fingers. It was absolutely fascinating to watch her small reactions—every hitch of her breathing, every squirm of her hips—as he caressed her.

Hendrik wanted more. He felt lightheaded with desire as he tugged her yet closer and softly pressed his lips to the top of one maddeningly alluring shoulder. She made encouraging noises as he slowly kissed his way down her collarbone to her breasts. When he finally caught one of her nipples in his mouth, stroking it with his tongue, she gave a small cry that shot straight to his groin.

Time seemed to stand still as he nuzzled and licked at her breasts: first one, then the other, and back again. When he finally pulled away, her nipples were wet and shiny in the firelight and her breath heaved unsteadily in her chest.

Martina opened her eyes, a wild sort of look in them as they met his. He had only a split-second of warning before she again crushed her lips to his.

This was madness, Hendrik thought dizzily as they devoured one other with their mouths. The world outside the cabin seemed impossibly far away, a forgotten dream compared to the reality of this woman’s softness and heat and passion.

He knew not what he was doing when he rolled them both over to lay atop her; only that he needed more of her, _all_ of her, to explore every inch of her body and hear every sound she was capable of making. She looked up at him hooded eyes, silently urging him onward.

Hendrik languidly kissed his way back down her chest, returning to her breasts for a time to tease and toy with his tongue. She buried her fingers in his hair, clutching reflexively at his scalp when he sucked one nipple into his mouth.

While he lavished attention on her breasts, he felt her fumble at the blanket around her waist, pushing it aside to free the lower half of her body. Wordlessly she grabbed his hand and impatiently brought it between her legs.

His breath stuttered on her skin. His cock swelled further at the wet heat he found there as she used his own fingers to caress and stroke herself. He pulled away from her breast to watch, wide eyes darting up to hers then back down again.

Martina gently rocked her hips against his hand as they explored her folds together. She let out a gasp when his fingertips circled a small nub near the top of her sex; her back arched and her eyes squeezed closed, and he knew he would give anything, _anything_ , to make her do that again.

“Wh-Where are you going?” she panted when he pulled his hand away and repositioned himself above her.

“I wish to—” He hesitated, not knowing how to ask, or if this were even something he _should_ want. He looked down again, scattered images flashing through his mind, driving him half-mad.

“I wish to...taste you,” he finally managed, and prayed she would not take offense.

She appeared slightly confused, even cross at the pause in her pleasure, but then her face cleared. Her hands slipped onto his shoulders and gave him a little push.

“Please,” she whispered, and that was nearly his undoing.

Hendrik pressed light kisses below her breasts, down her stomach, across the tops of her legs. She was squirming when his lips met the juncture of her thigh and groin and moved yet further in. He felt heady at the scent of her, and the first tentative stroke of his tongue against her folds resulted in a moan that sent shivers down his spine.

He ignored his throbbing erection and instead concentrated fully on Martina. Hendrik wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her closer as he teased and licked and tasted, paying careful attention to her every reaction and adjusting his movements accordingly. That small nub was apparently the source of great pleasure, and she shuddered and gasped every time he circled it with his tongue.

His keen interest in exploring her body led him to pulling one hand off her leg and moving it over to caress her further down, where the source of her heat was. Several of his fingers brushed against her entrance for a moment, before easily slipping inside.

She hissed in surprise and he immediately jerked back, removing both hand and mouth altogether.

“Did I cause you pain?” he asked anxiously.

“Not exactly,” she replied a bit breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows. Her skin was flushed and her chest heaved unsteadily. “Just—take it more slowly.”

“My apologies,” he said with chagrin, looking off to the side. “I have never...this is my first…”

There had been opportunities, over the years; even Hendrik was not so oblivious as to overlook that, especially when his comrades had taken such delight in teasing him about it. But duty had always come first, and possibility had never realized into actuality.

That is, until now.

Her gentle hand on his face startled him and his eyes flew back to hers.

“It’s my first, too,” she said with a strange, wistful little smile. “But I think we can probably figure it out together.”

There was little time to dwell on his shock at her admission as she fell back to the mattress and urged him downward once more, legs spread in invitation. He needed no further encouragement.

Hendrik returned to his position between her thighs and took greater care as he lapped at her folds and stroked her entrance. When he cautiously slipped one finger inside her, she arched her back this time, digging her hands into his hair and moaning something unintelligible.

He knew not how long he lay there, consumed by and consuming her; it may have been mere minutes, or perhaps an eternity, before she started rocking her hips forward and back and squeezing her thighs tightly against his head.

“I—I think I’m going to—” she gasped out. He focused as intently on this as he had any decisive battle in his life.

Martina cried out as she came, and he felt the muscles inside her clench tightly around his finger. He kept up his attentions as her spasms continued, until she gave one last shudder and tugged at his hair to pull him back up.

He lay down beside her, uncertain whether she would want to be touched further. Her eyes were closed and her breathing laboured. She then swept one hand across her face, pushing her bangs out of her eyes, and looked over at him.

“Not bad for a first try,” she said with a tired smile, and he took her understatement as the compliment she had meant.

“It seemed...pleasant for you,” he noted, and then wondered why she laughed weakly and regarded him with something close to fondness.

After another few moments lying together by the fire, Martina appeared to return to himself. His cock, having lost some of its hardness due to his concentration between her legs, quickly returned to full attention at her sudden dark, heated look.

“And what of you, Sir Knight?” she said in a low voice that quickened his heart in his chest. She reached out and teasingly traced her fingers along the edge of the blanket still half-covering him.

“What...what of me?” he asked shakily. She rolled over to straddle his hips again and his gaze dropped irresistibly to her swaying breasts before returning to her mischievous face.

“We may be even on lives saved tonight, but not pleasure given,” she replied, still in that bewitching tone. One hand came up to his chest, pulling the blanket away from his body.

“You must not feel—that is, it is unnecessary to—” Hendrik was cut off by her lips slanting over his, and he groaned into her mouth. He wondered senselessly if she could taste herself on his tongue.

His breathing turned shallow as she started kissing her way down his neck and collarbone, nipping at his skin. She paused when she reached his pendant, lying askew on his chest; but then she gently pushed it aside and continued her slow, searing trail down his body.

The outline of his erection tented his boxers absurdly when she finally reached the bottom of his clenched stomach. His cock twitched involuntarily as she leaned back and tilted her head, considering it. Hendrik felt rather like she was assessing her next move as she had in battle.

It was like no battle _he_ had ever been in, however, when she made the decision to hook her fingers under the waistband of his shorts and tug downward. He braced himself on the mattress and lifted his hips to aid her, and then he was on full display before the crackling fire.

He did not quite know what to make of her reaction. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent _oh_. A self-conscious flush joined the aroused one at his neck.

“Is it always that—large?” she asked, all traces of the seductress momentarily vanished.

“No,” he admitted in a strained voice. “But you have been very...encouraging, this evening.”

She smiled almost shyly at him; then she leaned down and licked a long stripe up the shaft.

Hendrik’s sudden cry bounced off the rafters of the cabin. When he looked back at her, gasping for breath, she was all mischief and allure again.

“Was that not right?” was her wickedly innocent question.

“You—” he tried to get out, choking on his own tongue.

Martina shook her head and sat back, pulling her half-loose hair together and tying it with the leather string once more. Her eyes were filled with determination when they met his, and she placed a firm hand on his hip.

“Let me try again,” she said, and then proceeded to wage war on his very soul.

Hendrik had never felt so helpless, yet so willing to surrender to it. He let his head fall back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as every stroke and caress of her tongue and fingers sent bolts of lightning coursing through him.

He felt her explore his cock much as he had between her legs, testing and teasing and pausing at every particularly strong moan, only to repeat the action to see if she could make him do so again. She was a quick learner, as he could only have expected, and she had him reduced to shuddering disarray in very little time.

With enormous effort, he brought his head back up for the sole reason of _needing_ to look at her, to fix in his mind the sight of her as she gave him such overwhelming pleasure. As it happened, he locked eyes with her again just as she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.

It was too much. He knew he had reached his limit almost immediately, even as she slid further down, taking him deeper into her wet heat. Hendrik tried to pull back, tried to warn her, but he could not render his gasping cries into proper words. All he could manage was her name, over and over again, as his hips jerked upward and he came powerfully.

His vision went white for a few moments and there was a strident ringing in his ears. When his senses returned to him, he saw Martina sitting back on her heels, a look of slight discontentment upon her.

“Are—” He cleared his throat, trying to remove the hoarseness from his voice. “Are you well?”

“Not the greatest taste in the world,” she responded, making a face.

Hendrik let his head drop to the mattress and covered his eyes with his hand. “I...apologize. It was my duty to warn you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He felt her crawl back up and lie down next to him with a small sigh. “I would say all debts are now paid, wouldn’t you?”

“Quite,” he agreed faintly.

“Come on,” she said, reaching over him for one of the discarded blankets, “I don’t want to waste all this warmth we worked so hard for.”

He helped her gather up all the coverings and pile them on top of their impromptu bed before the fire. Hendrik was suddenly exhausted, and he knew that he was not long for the conscious world as they settled back down on the mattress together. She curled up at his side and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

His vision was getting vague around the edges when she quietly spoke a few minutes later. “Sounds like the storm is dying down out there.”

Hendrik buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. “We shall leave together on the morrow, then,” he said.

He was distantly aware of her hand moving to his chest, fingers gently tracing the edges of his pendant. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

Something was there, so close he could almost reach out and grasp it; but he did not have the strength of mind or will, and felt himself slipping away. All was soon darkness.

When he awoke the next day, it was with some disorientation. Hendrik blinked up at the ceiling of the cabin, struggling to recall his circumstances.

Everything came back to him in a rush and he bolted upright. The fire was long dead in the hearth and the hut had grown chilly. The shutters were yet closed, but he could see sunlight shining through the cracks in the wood.

Most significantly, Martina was nowhere to be seen. The indent beside him on the mattress was cold, and a cursory look revealed that her belongings had likewise vanished.

Hendrik’s heart tightened in his chest and his stomach felt hollow. He started to rise to investigate more closely, but suddenly stopped and looked down.

The leather string, placed carefully in his hand while he had slept. He stared at it for some moments, then slowly closed his fingers into a tight fist.

It took him somewhat longer than usual to dress and equip himself in his armour. He considered a hasty meal of hardtack but ultimately rejected the idea, intent on leaving directly in order to determine the fate of his men in the storm. He sheathed his greatsword into its scabbard and wrenched open the door.

If he paused, then, it was only for a moment, and without looking back.

The sun’s reflection on the newly-fallen snow was blinding and Hendrik held up a hand to shield his eyes. He squinted at the angle of the shadows, trying to determine the time of day before he set off.

As fortune would have it, he had no sooner reached the bottom of the stairs than his sergeant walked around the edge of a large boulder, followed by his entire missing section of troops.

“Sir Hendrik!” the sergeant exclaimed, rushing over as best he could through the snowdrifts and snapping a sharp salute. “Cor, are we glad to see you, sir!”

“Likewise, Sergeant,” Hendrik nodded. “What is your status? How fared you during the storm?”

“We got real lucky and found a cave out there in the Snærfelt, sir—that did us just fine. Slait got a bit o’ frostbite but otherwise we’re as well as can be expected.”

“Good.” It was a relief to see his soldiers alive and well. Hendrik scanned the group and made mental notes of minor injuries and damaged equipment, so as to be able to make a full report to His Majesty upon their return to the capital.

“And you, sir?” the sergeant asked, interrupting his thoughts. “This cabin must’ve been a comfortable place for you during that blizzard.”

“Yes,” Hendrik replied distantly. Then he hesitated. “Did you happen to see a woman on your travels this morning? Long hair, dressed in black and green?”

The sergeant frowned. “No, sir. No one at all, and certainly no woman. I can send a couple o’ the scouts out to have a look, if you like.”

“No need,” Hendrik declared, absently plucking at the strip of leather tied around his wrist. “A passing thought, is all.”

He raised his head and called out to the group, who all looked up and saluted crisply. “We return to Sniflheim directly. Move out!”

 

* * *

 

Hendrik thought about her often in the months afterward. When he caught a glimpse of someone with long, dark hair out of the corner of his eye; when he trained in hand-to-hand combat and dodged a particularly fearsome kick; when he rode through a dense forest with trees looming all around him.

When he took himself in hand late at night, spilling all over his stomach at the thought of her lips.

It was almost with relief that he set out on his mission to track down the fugitive Darkspawn. He had been too long in Heliodor—too long wondering in the back of his mind if she would ever come to the one place she would know to find him, too long facing the disappointment he had convinced himself he did not feel. The string on his wrist burned with the memory of her, but he could not bring himself to remove it.

A curious twist of fate, then, that she should for once be furthest from his mind as he stood on a rocky cliff, rain lashing around him, the Child of Darkness helpless at his feet. The knight relished the triumph surging through him and prepared to carry out his king's righteous command.

“Hendrik, don’t you dare!”

He turned his head, startled, then wheeled around entirely. There she was: face contorted with that familiar anger, hair just as he remembered it, standing in the ruins of where he had thought her lost forever, sixteen long years ago.

The pieces all slammed into place at once, and Hendrik’s world came crashing down around him.

A curious twist of fate.

And a cruel one.


End file.
